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Updated: June 21, 2025
When all were assembled in the room the planters demanded the tale of Noreen's adventures; and the girl, looking dainty and fresh in a white muslin dress, unlike the heroine of her recent tragic experience, smilingly complied and told the story up to the point of Dermot's unexpected and dramatic intervention. "Now you must go on, Major," she said, turning to him. "Yes, yes, Dermot.
Then, on a piece of paper, she wrote the words: "I, not Dyck Calhoun, killed Erris Boyne." A few moments later, Noreen's eyes opened, and Sheila spoke to her. "I have written these words. Here they are see them. Sign them." She read the words, and put a pencil in the trembling fingers, and, on the cover of a book Noreen's fingers traced her name slowly but clearly.
Chunerbutty, in whom old racial instincts were rekindled, had scarcely been able to restrain himself from climbing down and joining in the frenzied rush on the bull. But the turn of events sobered him and induced him to listen at last to Noreen's entreaties and angry demands from the Englishmen who bade him order the mahouts to take the visitors away from the horrible spectacle.
The woman's eyes sought the face of Dyck Calhoun, and Calhoun said: "No, you did not spoil my life, Noreen Boyne. You have made it. Not that I should have chosen the way of making it, but there it is, as God's in heaven, I forgive you." Noreen's face lost some of its gloom. "That makes it easier," she said brokenly. "I can't atone by any word or act, but I'm sorry.
Bain walked his pony beside Noreen's chair and named the various points of the scenery around them. Noreen was overcome with shyness at finding herself, after her months of isolation, among scores of white folk, all strangers to her.
Noreen's casual liking for him but her frank indifference to him in any other capacity than that of a pleasant companion with whom to ride, dance, or play tennis, piqued him, but not sufficiently to make him risk losing his cherished freedom. Chunerbutty left Darjeeling after a week's stay.
Every time that the Major met Daleham he expected to be told of Noreen's engagement, perhaps even her wedding. But he heard nothing.
Noreen's two most constant attendants were Charlesworth and Melville. The Indian Army officer's devotion and earnestness were patent to the world, but the Rifleman's intentions were a problem and a source of dispute among the women, who in Indian stations not less than other places watch the progress of every love-affair with the eyes of hawks.
And Noreen's pretty drawing-room was crowded with men in riding costume or in uniform for most of the planters belonged to a Volunteer Light Horse Corps, and some of them, expecting a fight, had put on khaki when they got Daleham's summons. Their rifles, revolvers, and cartridge belts were piled on the verandah.
Noreen's heavy luggage had gone on ahead by bullock cart two days before, so the pair travelled light.
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